


Of Moths and Flames

by Wertiyurae



Category: Cyborg 009
Genre: Canon Compliant, Feelings, Gen, Novelization, Reconciliation, There's no Cathy tag???, What are Tags?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-05
Updated: 2003-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:35:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29089899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wertiyurae/pseuds/Wertiyurae
Summary: A partial ficification of Hero through Cathy's eyes.
Relationships: 002 | Jet Link & Cathy
Kudos: 2





	1. Where There's Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally published on ff.net between September 5, 2003 and September 7, 2003. I will be changing the publication date to reflect this in a week or so. I've done some light editing (mostly adding italics and deleting extra thats), but the story is largely unchanged. The original author's notes are below: 
> 
> (*Author's Note: This is my first bit of fan fiction for the Cyborg 009 universe. I just thought that I'd tell you all that most of the dialogue (and action in later chapters) used in this story was lifted directly from the episode Hero as transcribed by me using a copy of the show from Cartoon Network. I'll apologize in advance for the slight shippy-ness right now but the idea just wouldn't leave me alone. This story may be confusing if you haven't seen Hero, but you might find it interesting anyway. Also, if anyone knows what Cathy's real last name is, could you tell me? Oh, and if you have any suggestions on how I can make this story better, feel free to tell me that too.
> 
> One more thing (I promise!), this story is all written out and all that remains is some typing and some tweaking, so rest assured, that I plan on finishing this story.
> 
> I lied. One more thing: most of the words in ( ) are Cathy's thoughts. *)

Cathy Jenkins was not in a good mood when she arrived at the hotel. That was to be expected of course, considering her latest run in with that delinquent that her son had attached himself to. Just seeing that man was enough to get her temper up.

 _Can hardly call him a 'man,'_ she thought as she trudged upstairs. To her eyes, Jet Link was nothing more than a boy who obviously thought that the world should revolve around him. She couldn't think of any other reason why he saw nothing wrong with standing idly by while her boy got into fights or with filling her son's head with the worst kind of nonsense. Never mind the fact he was jobless . . .

If only there was a way to keep Jimmy away from him. She'd had this thought many times before and it never ceased to annoy her: 'If only's were for people who were to busy belly aching to deal with reality and too lazy to help themselves. _Besides_ , she thought as she opened the door to the first room she had to clean, _it just isn't possible anyway._ She could barely afford to put food on the table as it was—there was no way that she could afford to pay someone to watch over Jimmy. And since she worked during the day and at night, she had no way to stop Jimmy from doing what he wanted.

She supposed, as she scrubbed the bathroom tiles (How does one person make this much of a mess in one day!), that she should be grateful that Jimmy wasn't spending his time with gang members or drug dealers, and she was—but only just. Jet Link was not the sort of person that she wanted for Jimmy's role model. Unfortunately, it seemed that Jimmy had decided to replace one lousy father figure with another lousy father figure.

She just couldn't decide which lousy father figure was worse. On the one hand, she considered as she changed the sheets on the bed (What the heck was this guest doing! Cooking?), Jimmy's real father was a drunken idiot who had abandoned them at the first sign that he was actually going to have to take responsibility for his actions and take care of himself. The only reason she'd gotten together with that man in the first place was that he was Jimmy's father and she had hoped he would mature a little. Of course, that didn't happen. With luck, the only thing that Jimmy would inherit from his father were his eyes, but who could believe in luck now-a-days?

And then there was Jet Link. A loser who really didn't seem to care about much of anything at all. Jet obviously thought he could coast through life; Jimmy could not afford to take that lesson to heart. Not if he wanted to survive in the real world. Not if he wanted to be more than just an inner city street tough. She wanted Jimmy to have a chance at the easy life that she never had—whenever she saw the plain hero worship in Jimmy's eyes when the subject of Jet came up, she saw that dream slip a little further away. She only hoped that Jimmy would come to realize that Jet wasn't as cool as he thought and abandon him; but she feared that even if Jimmy ever did see Jet for what he really was, the damage would already be done.

Wiping the stove top with a bit more force than necessary (Do I even want to know what this stuff is?), she decided the main reason she had gotten so mad at Jet tonight was that he had the audacity to say that her having to work two jobs was unfair. It wasn't because what he said wasn't true—it wasn't right that she had to work two jobs; it was because she couldn't imagine that he was old enough to know what unfairness really was.

Then again, she reconsidered as she wrung out her wash cloth (I don't think this will ever get clean.), Jet had a look that she recognized quite well. That predatory gleam in his eye, his swagger, and the leanness of his frame—he was a child of the streets. He'd probably had lived the life that she was trying so hard to protect Jimmy from. It was sad to realize, but now that she really thought about it, Jet probably did know what real unfairness was.

Maybe she wasn't being completely fair to Jet, but she couldn't help feeling angry about what he'd said anyway. Cathy had never liked pity no matter where it came from; it really burned her that someone in Jet's situation should think that he was in a position to offer her pity. She was twenty five years old—she didn't need or want to be pitied by a delinquent teenager.

She was just about to start vacuuming (If I didn't know this carpet was supposed to blue . . . ), when she heard screaming. For a few moments, she just stood and listened. She could hear the sound of running feet (These walls really are paper thin!) and shouts. Dropping the vacuum without giving it a second look, she ran out the door.

It was pandemonium. People were scrambling by the door and heading down the stairs. Everyone was talking at once and while she couldn't understand what was being said, she could hear the fear in their voices. (What's going on here?) She was about to grab someone and ask what was happening when she smelled the smoke. As soon as she smelled it, she saw it too; she didn't see flames yet, but they couldn't be too far off. (I've got to get out of here!)

She was about to follow the people heading to the stairs when she heard a scream coming from down the smoke-darkened hallway. It was high pitched and any mother could tell that it had came from a child. Cathy looked around, disappointed, but unsurprised, when no one seemed willing to stop running and go back for the kid.

Not that she was exactly raring to go herself. It filled her with disgust, but she had to admit that she wanted to walk away too. The difference between her and all the jerks running by was that she was going to go anyway. She was a mother—heck, she was a human being—she'd be damned if she was just going to walk away without even trying to help.

She was just about to do that when someone grabbed her arm. Spinning around with an angry retort on her lips and getting ready to shake the hand away, she stopped herself when she saw a familiar face. It was Maria, an older woman that Cathy found annoying but tolerable. Her maid uniform was dark with soot and her eyes were a bit too wide, wild.

"Cathy! What the hell are you doing! We've got to get out of here!" With every word, Maria had squeezed Cathy's arm a little tighter. By the time she was finished, her grip was uncomfortably tight and Cathy worried a little about her circulation (When did she get so strong?).

"Maria. I need you to do something for me." She tried to keep her voice calm and authoritative but she only succeeded with the latter. "I need you to go down there and tell the firefighters that there's still people up here."

'Why can't you . . ." Maria's grip tightened as she seemed to realize what Cathy was meaning to do."You can't mean to—What about your son?"

Cathy didn't have time for this. As quickly as she could, she told Maria to go and pick up Jimmy (giving Maria the address to Jet's apartment building because she knew that was where he'd be) and make sure he was all right.

Maria didn't look happy and, frankly, Cathy didn't care. (There's no time for this!). Wrenching her arm away, she gave her a devil-may-care smile that she didn't feel. "I'll be fine, Maria—just go."

Maria hesitated a moment longer before turning and heading towards the stairs.

Not giving herself a chance to hesitate any longer, Cathy started down the smoky hallway. She could hear sobbing cries but she couldn't really tell where they were coming from. "Where are you!" When her call received no answer, she walked further into the suddenly labyrinthine halls.

"Is anyone here!" She strained her ears but she could no longer hear the sound that brought her here. She couldn't hear anything except creaking wood and roaring flames. Smoke blurred her eyes, caught in her throat and she realized that the fire had gotten worse during the short time she'd been looking.

As she searched for a handkerchief to put over her face (Just like in the movies), she made the tough decision to go back. She had no way of finding the child now that she couldn't hear it and—for all she knew—the child wasn't even here anymore. She refused to entertain the idea that the child had died while she'd been looking for it. Besides that, she had a child of her own to take care of. She owed it to Jimmy to get out of here alive and if she wanted to do that, she had to leave now.

Putting the handkerchief over her nose and mouth, she turned back the way she'd come. Or, at least, the way she thought she'd come. It became clear to her in short order that she'd managed to lose herself pretty well during her search. She had no idea where she was and she couldn't understand how she could've gotten so lost. (How long have I worked at this hotel?) It was mind boggling.

Her mind didn't have too long to boggle as the hotel chose that moment to start spinning wildly. She fell to her knees and folded in on herself as she was overwhelmed by a coughing fit. By the time she'd caught her breath, her throat felt raw and her eyes were tearing. (This isn't good) Using the wall, she pushed herself to her feet. She wasn't upright for more than five seconds before the hotel spun again, but it wasn't the hotel's spinning that made her fall this time.

A burning beam from the floor above slammed down in front of her with enough force to knock her off her feet. She scrambled away from the flames and turned her back to it, shielding herself from the heat. Pressing the handkerchief to her face, she concentrated on breathing. She felt too light headed at the moment to try anything harder. (This can't be happening.)

But it was and now that she had realized the serousness of the situation, she felt the crushing weight of despair as Maria's words came back to her. "What about your son?" What would happen to Jimmy if she died here? She had no idea where his bastard father was and his only other relative was a grandfather who was in an institution because he couldn't remember his name. He'd go to an orphanage—Jimmy would be an orphan!

And all for nothing.

The thought made her so angry that she could've cried if the smoke hadn't made her tear up already. It wasn't fair. But then, she knew all about unfairness. She had learned her first lesson about the unfairness of life as a child when her mother drank herself to death. And ever since then, it seemed as though fate thought that she needed to keep relearning it. When her first boyfriend took advantage of her, when the father of her child left, when her own father lost his mind, when she had to work two jobs so she and her son could eat—

There had been many little lessons, but nothing had prepared her for this. If only she hadn't decided to play hero. If only she'd just run when she had a chance. If only—

(Stop it!) Now she felt thoroughly disgusted with herself. 'If only's never helped anyone do anything. It was weak to start down the 'if only' path and if there was one thing that Cathy prided herself on, it was her strength. She refused to just sit here and let herself die without even trying to save herself.

She almost thought that she could hear something over the roaring flames, but she ignored it. She couldn't afford any more distractions—time was running out and she knew it. She got the feeling that if she didn't leave soon, she wouldn't. That was not even an option. She was just about to try standing again—knowing inside (even if she refused to admit it to herself) that if she got to her feet, she probably wouldn't stay there—, when she heard the last thing that she expected to hear.

"Cathy? It's Jet. Are you all right?"


	2. Out of the Frying Pan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*Author's note: Wow. I'd just like to thank everyone who reviewed my story. I really appreciate the fact that they took the time to do so.
> 
> Anyway, I forgot to mention last time that I don't own Cyborg 009 (which is pretty obvious but disclaimers are always necessary)
> 
> That's about it. Now on to Chapter 2! *)

_"Cathy? It's Jet. Are you all right?"_

She felt a hand on her shoulder and she was reasonably sure that it wasn't a figment of her imagination. Her imagination wasn't nearly that good and she wasn't feeling light headed enough to hallucinate. (Of course, if I was hallucinating, how would I know?) Besides, if she was going to have a figment come to her rescue, it definitely wouldn't take the form of Jet Link.

"Jet. It's you?" It was a fact that she was finding hard to wrap her mind around. What the heck was he doing here? How did he find her? How did he even get up here?

"Don't worry. I'll get you out of here."

Worry? Why on Earth would she worry? She was just stuck in a burning building and was probably going to say her last words to a delinquent who probably wouldn't care less about them. Oh and her only son was going to be an orphan. Nothing to worry about at all.

The out-and-out bleakness of the thoughts shocked her. She wasn't very optimistic at the best of times, but this sort of pessimistic garbage wasn't the sort of thing she usually went for and she would've been very annoyed with herself for thinking that way if she didn't feel so tired already.

Suddenly there was a loud roar and Jet was on top of her, hissing in pain. (I hope the fool didn't hurt himself!). It seemed that he hadn't, because a few seconds later, he was on his feet and scooping her up into his arms. For a moment, he just stood there and Cathy groggily wondered what he was doing. At length, he sighed a little. "Ah man. There's no other way."

Something in his voice made her look up. There was a sort of quiet desperation in it that she didn't like the sound of at all. What kind of crazy stunt was he planing?

Vaguely, she felt the sensation that she was rising. Confused, she looked down. At first, she couldn't understand what she was looking at. When she finally did, all she could do was gasp. "No way."

"Hang on. This is going to be a rough ride."

And suddenly, she was on a roller coaster. She buried her face into his shirt and tried her damnedest to pretend that this wasn't happening. She wasn't being hurled through the air; Jet didn't have rockets attached to his feet and his arms weren't wrapped around her. (Heck, if I'm going to be in denial, let's go for everything!) She wasn't even in this hotel that wasn't burning down. Her life wasn't in danger and—

"Stay cool, Cathy. I've got to get us to the roof or we're done."

Jet's voice forced her out of her denial and she moved her head so she could see the flames coming from the rockets attached to his feet. This was incredible. If it wasn't for the fact she'd just come out of a bout of denial, she might have been tempted to say that this wasn't happening. As it was, she decided she'd just accept the fact that she'd been thrown into a cheap action movie and deal with the sheer insanity of it later.

Jet made a surprised sound in the back of his throat and the roller coaster stopped abruptly. The rockets were gone and he was standing on the floor again. "Can't go that way."

Cathy didn't bother turning so she could look at whatever Jet was talking about. She liked to think that she was pretty brave, but that didn't mean that she wanted to see the latest obstacle that stood between her and life; she didn't want to look death in the eye when it came for her and Jet.

In that instant, she wished that Jet hadn't come. She probably would have died sooner, but now . . . Now Jet was going to die, too. It was bad enough she ruined Jimmy's life by coming here; she didn't want to be responsible for Jet, too. Why didn't he just stay home? Why was he here at all? How did he even know where . . .

Maria. She must have told him what was happening when she picked up Jimmy. Was Jimmy here? She knew he wasn't in the building (No one would be stupid enough to bring a child into a burning building!), but was he down below? Did he know what was happening up here? Was he—?

Something caught her attention. A strange creaking, groaning sound. The door. She stared at it blankly for a second. It looked like it was straining, bulging. It looked like it was going to . . . She felt her eyes widen in horror as she realized what was going to happen.

(Oh God.) "Jet, look out!"

There was a loud boom as the door burst and for a few seconds, time lost all meaning. She was certain that she was dead; she couldn't have survived that. There was no way—

She felt something pressing her to the floor. "Huh?" (I'm alive?) What about—

"That was kind of a close call." Jet's voice was tight with pain, but he was obviously still alive.

As he rolled off her, Cathy felt her heart climb up into her throat (That idiot!). Feeling a strange combination of relief, fear and anger, she sat up quickly, ignoring the pounding in her head. She wasted no time in giving Jet a piece of her mind. "Jet, are you crazy?! You could've been killed!" She started looking him over, hoping that he wasn't too badly hurt. "You're lucky you're—"

(—still alive?) Cathy couldn't stop herself from gasping when she saw Jet's mangled knee. It wasn't the fact that it was mangled,—she'd lived in New York her whole life; it took a little more than some blood to take her breath away—, it was the fact that underneath the torn skin and flesh was a large metal hinge where his knee cap should have been. The metal was surrounded by wires and sparking circuits and fluids that she couldn't even begin to guess what they were. This was insane. Absolutely insane. This couldn't possibly be real.

A thought wormed its way into her mind as she stared at the sparking gash. A strange, impossible thought . . . but was it any more impossible than what she was seeing with her own eyes? What other explanation was there? She knew from watching the news that medical science couldn't make prosthetics like that and, even if they could, someone like Jet wouldn't be able to afford them. And, even if he could, what kind of doctor would put rockets in?

Tearing her eyes away from his wound to look at his face, she tried to think of away to ask the question she was almost sure she knew the answer to. "The story you told Jimmy about the cyborgs . . . that was your story, wasn't it?"

When Jet didn't look at her, she was certain then that she'd been right. Of course, if she was right, well, she'd have to reevaluate her opinion of Jet—assuming Jet hadn't lied to Jimmy about what the cyborgs had done. Then again, even if the cyborg thing hadn't come up, she would have had to reevaluate anyway. The Jet that she thought she knew would not have come up here. He wouldn't have risked himself for her. He wouldn't have tried to protect her. The fact that he was here at all spoke volumes about the sort of person he really was—

Person? If Jimmy's stories were true, how much of a 'person' was Jet? Brief flashes of Dr. Frankenstein and his monster crossed her mind—except, this time, the animated corpse had robotic parts. Was that all Jet was? Or was he just a robot with some skin laid over it? Was he even alive? Was it—

(Stop that!) She was so angry that she could've slapped herself. How dare she? Jet Link was risking his life and she had the nerve to call him an 'it'? What the heck was wrong with her anyway?

She was tired, she could barely breathe and she had suddenly found herself smack dab in the middle of the Twilight Zone—or a cheesy comic book. Taking all those things into consideration, she decided not to be too hard on herself. She was a maid and a waitress; how well was she supposed to take this? Finding out that cyborgs were real was not something one could take in stride. Finding out Jet was a cyborg was a bit hard to swallow too. Maybe if she thought of him as more of a Steve Austin* . . .

In any case, Jet was still definitely a person, even if he wasn't completely human, and she was determined to remember it.

Abruptly, Jet broke the long silence that had come between them. When he spoke, his voice was soft and pained. "Leave me."

"What?!"

"You've gotta find away to get up to the roof. There'll be a rescue helicopter; it's your only chance to survive."

Cathy didn't miss the emphasis on the word 'you.' He was going to be stupid about this, wasn't he? Well, she wasn't about to let him get away with that heroic 'leave me' crap! But, considering how badly she'd misjudged Jet before, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt before she got angry. "How are we going to get you up there?"

As soon as she saw his small smile and heard his soft chuckle, she knew that Jet was going to be stupid after all. "I'll stay here. Haven't you seen the sparks coming frm my leg? You see, when you're a cyborg, that's not really a good sign."

He still wasn't looking at her as he raised his hand up in a 'it's-like-this' gesture. "Look, this is the end for me—it's over." Putting his hand down, he continued in a voice that would have won him an Oscar in a Hollywood death scene. "Now leave this tin can behind and get going."

As he spoke, Cathy had felt herself become angrier and angrier. She wasn't sure what angered her more: the nonchalance, the self pity, or the fact that he was just going to give up. The last two were deadly sins in Cathy's book and she wasn't about to let him get away with either of them.

With a growl, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and lifted his face closer to hers. The surprise on his face was deeply satisfying and she was glad that she finally had his full attention.

"Listen! Don't give me all that garbage. It's only a broken leg, so stop being such a cry baby!"

The offended shock on his face was encouraging. While her Catholic father used to have many a word (and none of them good) about pride, Cathy knew the power it had over people. She just hoped that she'd be able to wound Jet's pride enough that he'd be willing to listen to reason and stop being so stupid.

"Aren't you the same guy who told Jimmy that a cyborg never gives up, no matter what the odds? Is that true? Or should I just assume that you were lying to my son?"

No one liked to have their own words tossed back into their face or their integrity questioned and she expected Jet to give her some kind of angry retort. When it didn't immediately come, Cathy grew a little concerned. Jet wasn't looking at her now and it was impossible to see what he was thinking under all that hair.

Maybe she'd gone too far. She'd known before tonight that Jet, despite his other faults, seemed to genuinely care about what Jimmy thought about him. Hitting someone below the belt after they tried to help her was not something she liked to do and she didn't like how it made her feel. . . .

But feelings weren't important right now. Getting out of here alive was. She was just about to try again when Jet chuckled.

"I've got a real soft spot in my heart for humans." Jet put his hand over the hand she still had clenched in his shirt. He was looking up and, while his voice still held that same nonchalance, his smile told her she'd reached him after all. "What kind of Super Cyborg am I?"

Cathy smiled at his weak joke and let go of his shirt. She was about to suggest that they get moving when the hotel sun and the world blurred. It was only chance that her head landed on Jet's chest rather than hitting the floor when she tipped forward with a soft groan.

"Ca-Cathy?" While she was only faintly aware of the arm that he'd put around her, there was no mistaking the fear and confusion in Jet's voice. (Where did I get the idea that you didn't care about anything?) When Jet started talking again, the confusion was gone but the fear and concern remained. "You need more oxygen."

Although she felt too dizzy to actually look up at him, she smiled a little anyway. It touched her that he would be so concerned about her welfare. If (Not if, _when_ ) they got out of this, she and Jet would have to have a long talk. But if that was going to happen, they had to get moving. "I think I'm going to be all right, Jet. So why don't we get out of here?" She only hoped that her voice sounded strong enough to reassure Jet rather than make him worry.

The arm around her tightened a little and the fondness in Jet's voice was plain. "Wow, you really are one heck of a woman, you know that?" She didn't have to look up to know that he was smiling.

As Jet told her how he planned on getting them both to the roof, part of Cathy's mind was occupied by how glad she was that Jet had said 'woman.' After everything that they'd been through so far, she would have hated to have had to slap him because he'd called her a 'girl.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (To Be Continued Soon!)
> 
> * A reference to Steve Austin from the show the Six Million Dollar Man. In case you've never heard of it, Steve was a guy who was rebuilt using bionic parts.


	3. Where's the Fire?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*Author's note: Once again, I'd like to thank all of my reviewers. You make this a very enjoyable experience.
> 
> I have some closing notes on the bottom about this story to explain a few things, so, if you are interested at all, take a look when you get down there.
> 
> So, without further adieu- my Final Chapter! *)

About six minutes later they were, slowly but surely, moving. Cathy was clinging to Jet's back and Jet used one hand to keep her there and his other to support himself. Leaning heavily against the wall, he pushed himself forward and each step he took was punctuated by a grunt or a pained hiss. She could hear the effort he was making to keep those sounds to himself (God forbid he admit how much pain he's in!) but there was nothing he could do to hide the shudders that were running through him. From her position, Cathy could feel them quite well.

She hadn't wanted to do it this way. Cyborg or not, Jet shouldn't be walking around on a broken leg at all—never mind with a person hanging on his back. How much good would it do if he collapsed from shock? Never mind how much extra damage it would do. When she had mentioned these things, he'd assured her he wasn't that badly hurt, but considering how anxious he had been before to have her leave him behind . . .

In the end, there had been no choice. Her limbs had become leaden and couldn't be persuaded to try anything as complicated as walking. And the one time she had pushed herself up to her feet . . . well, it hadn't been fun and she couldn't make herself stay there long enough to convince Jet that he didn't have to carry her. Of course, by the time she'd fallen, she'd felt too sick to argue with him and Jet had won by default.

Although, she was sure he wasn't too happy about 'winning' now.

He stopped for a moment, turning his head to look back at her. While his smile was probably meant to be reassuring, the obvious pain behind it did nothing but add to her worries. "We're almost there. Keep holding on, okay?"

(Not like I'm going to let go.) She nodded and wished she could say something encouraging with out sounding like she was nagging him. He didn't seem to be expecting anything more than a nod anyway. He just looked forward and started moving again.

She craned her head so she could see where they were going. A stair well—and not just any stair well. She knew from the safety lecture she had gotten when she first came to work here, that those stairs led directly up to the roof. It was funny: there seemed to be a lot more stairs now than when she had looked at it all that time ago.

As he started up the stairs, she could tell that this was taking a lot out of him. His movements were slower, jerky and he wasn't even trying to hide the sounds his was making anymore. In a sick sort of way, it was almost comforting. Jet might not need as much oxygen as she did and he might be able to fly and he might have a lot of robotic parts, but he was still human enough to feel pain.

And human enough to feel other things too. Concern, pride, bravery, fondness. Feelings that she hadn't thought he had when she'd thought he was completely human.

She wondered, as they made their slow progress up the stairs, how she could have pegged Jet so wrongly. She prided herself on her ability to know about people: what drove them, why they acted the way they did. The fact that her picture of Jet was so distorted was upsetting and she couldn't figure out why Jet had proved to be such an enigma.

Actually, if she was going to be honest with herself, she already knew the answer and it had nothing to do with Jet at all. When her husband had left her and Jimmy to fend for themselves, she'd been crushed. Despite all of his faults, she had honestly loved the man and he had just thrown it all away. She'd gone through a brief (a very brief) time when she had blamed herself for his leaving. Was there something more she could have done? Had she been too demanding? What? Why?

After she'd gotten over that, there had been nothing left but anger and bitterness, and since she hated pity, she'd dived right into anger. And there she had stayed. Ever since then, her temper had shortened dangerously and things she would have found merely frustrating or annoying as little as a month ago made her furious. Jet's behavior would have frustrated her a month ago.

Unfortunately, she had only come to know him recently and as a result . . . he hadn't been given a chance at all.

Like when he'd brought her son to the coffee shop today (It seems so long ago now!). A month ago, the fact that Jet had stood idly by while her son go into a fight would have only irked her because she would have realized that the reason he hadn't stepped in was that Jet probably had been raised to see nothing wrong with a boy getting into fights. She would have seen that he was barely an adult himself and, while she still would have given him a good talking to, she wouldn't have been nearly as hard on him as she had been today.

But since it had happened today, she had thought the reason Jet hadn't stepped in was because he didn't care if Jimmy got hurt. That Jet didn't care what happened to him. She'd gotten it into her head that Jet was nothing but a delinquent but she had still expected him to act like an adult. That was why she had really let him have it.

Now that she was actually thinking about it, she realized there had been many little signals that Jet was more than he appeared. Sadly, she'd been too preoccupied with her own problems to take the time to figure out a complicated person and she had missed them, deciding to simplify him instead until he bore little resemblance to what he really was.

But she was determined not to make that same mistake twice. If they got out of here, she was going to make a real effort to see what was under all those layers. She'd seen quite a bit tonight and she realized that Jet was definitely someone worth really getting to know. Maybe even—

Suddenly, Jet's leg buckled and he screamed.

She'd been afraid something like this would happen. "Jet, come on!" If he fell now, there'd be no way she be able to help him back up or drag him the rest of the way—at this point, she didn't know if she could drag herself out.

Jet was leaning heavily against the wall, painting in obvious agony. He was still standing, but judging by the tremors running through him, he wouldn't stay that way much longer. She looked ahead and saw that all that stood between dying here and living on the roof were a few stairs, a small section of floor and a closed door. Surely if there was a God, as Cathy sometimes liked to think there probably was, He would not let them come so far just so they could fail when they were so close.

Before she could fully register what was happening, Jet made a sound that could only be described as a battle cry and they were moving very fast. He practically ran up the stairs and across the floor. He slammed into the door with enough force to rip the bolt that kept it closed and pop it open.

Either Jet had jumped through the door or had tripped over his feet on his last step because they landed roughly on the roof. Cathy was at once glad and concerned that Jet was the one on the bottom. When he tried to push himself up to his knees, she fell off his back in a slightly less than graceful fashion.

Feeling her strength returning as she was finally able to breathe, she helped Jet turn himself over so he could sit and get his wound out of the dirt. He settled back with a groan and he was still panting. The total lack of expression on his face was unsettling and, for a moment, she feared that he'd gone into shock after all.

To her relief, he cracked a smile. It was pained and small, but genuine. "Finally! We're here."

She looked down at his leg and felt some of her relief slip away. (That can't be good.) It looked even worse than it did before and she wondered how he was going to fix it—it was a cinch to see that going to a hospital wouldn't help him very much. She wondered if it even could be fixed. Her stomach sank at the thought. "Your leg . . . Will it ever work again?"

Jet looked away from the sky and focused his attention on her. He was still smiling and his nonchalance had come back to him. "Hmph. I guess Jimmy didn't tell you everything." Sitting up a little straighter, he continued. "002 is one indestructible cyborg."

It was hard to tell from his tone if he was joking or not and, for a moment, Cathy just stared at him. Considering the condition of his leg, how could he say something so ridiculous? Then she remembered Jimmy's cyborg stories. 002 had featured prominently in all the stories—the hero. 'Indestructible and all the women and children love him.' So if Jet was 002 . . . Well, someone had a high opinion of himself.

Remembering all the (most likely) inflated heroics of his stories, combining it with the actual heroics that she'd seen tonight, adding a dash of his ridiculous statement, baking it all in the oven of "Thank God we're still alive!," and lightly seasoning it with the fact that she finally had enough air, she couldn't stop the chuckles that escaped her. She also couldn't stop those chuckles from becoming full fledged laughs—although, really, she wasn't trying too hard. It felt good to laugh. She only hoped, as she continued to laugh, that she didn't wound Jet's manly pride too badly.

It seemed to be a moot point as Jet's low chuckles and deep laughter joined her own. Cathy didn't know what he was laughing about; but she was glad to hear it anyway. She couldn't ever remember hearing him actually laugh before and she liked the sound of it. She hoped that she'd be able to hear it more often.

They were both laughing so loudly that she didn't notice the helicopter until it was right on top of them and shining a blinding light into her face. They both stopped laughing abruptly and Cathy helped Jet to his feet.

As she looked at the helicopter, she was struck by the urge to say something. There was so much that she wanted to say. She wanted to thank him for saving her and yell at him for risking his life. She wanted to apologize for selling him short. She wanted to tell him that she wanted to get to know him. She wanted—

Deciding to wait until she had time to sort through all her thoughts and feelings about everything before she talked about them, she didn't say any of those things. "We made it out safely."

It sounded horribly flat to her ears after all they'd been through tonight, but Jet seemed to take it in stride. "We did."

With Jet's arm over her shoulder and her arm around his waist, Cathy helped him limp over to the helicopter. While she mainly worried about what they were going to say to the paramedics about Jet's leg, other parts of her mind were busy wondering whether things would change between them or if things would go back to the way they used to be. She knew that, if nothing else, she wouldn't be able to look at Jet the same way she did before tonight.

Her feelings were still confused, but there was a definite warmth for Jet that hadn't been there before. She hoped, as the paramedics loaded the both of them into the helicopter, that she'd never lose it.

And that she'd be able to share it with him someday.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*End Notes: The first thing I'd like to mention is the real lack of shippy-ness when I promised some in Chapter 1. I tried, I really tried and when I had it written out, it certainly looked shippy.
> 
> But, when I typed it out, I realized that real people do not just fall in love like that. A person like I pictured Cathy to be certainly wouldn't. I know that there is such thing as love at first sight (or, rather, lust), but that hardly applied to this story- they already knew each other and Cathy hated him. I think that you'd be hard pressed to find a situation, outside of a cheesy romance novel, where someone goes from hating someone right to loving someone with nothing else in between. There is such thing as "heat of the moment" and that certainly could have applied, but the darn characters wouldn't cooperate with me.
> 
> I mean, how romantic would you feel after suffering smoke inhalation or a broken leg?
> 
> So that is why there isn't a lot of ship. There's the start of ship but we aren't quite there yet. Realism strikes again.
> 
> The second thing that I'd like to mention is that there may or may not be more to this story. I have a lot of unanswered questions about what happened in the episode (like when did Jet get his leg fixed? How friendly did he and Cathy get before he left?) which are exactly the sort of thing you want to have to write fan fiction. At the moment, I only have vague ideas about what some of the answers could be which is why I'm not going to promise anything.
> 
> So until I have something solid, this is going to be it. I think it makes a good story on it's own which is why I posted it.
> 
> That's about it. I hope that you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. *)


End file.
